


Atomic Smorrebrod

by youmockussir



Series: It's Only Awkward If You Let It Be [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alcohol, Carlos is the most oblivious person alive, M/M, One Night Stands, Past Earl Harlan/Cecil Palmer, Pre-Cecilos, Set Before Episode 8: Wheat and Wheat Byproducts, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23080333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir
Summary: Earl is trying to forget about a breakup, and his ex-boyfriend can't stop talking about his new crush on the radio. Carlos finally gets out of the lab. Earl should really get into the habit of asking people for their name.
Relationships: Carlos/Earl Harlan
Series: It's Only Awkward If You Let It Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678450
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Atomic Smorrebrod

Carlos sits at the bar, sipping a long island iced tea. He isn’t really the bar type-- at least, not before coming to Night Vale-- but he’s been spending long hours in the lab and the fluorescent lights are starting to give him headaches at shorter and shorter intervals. His mother always told him that he’d work himself into an early grave. (Carlos laughs at this now; she was far more accurate than she probably realized). 

And, so, Carlos decides to spend a night on the town. He’s a young (ish) man. He can still do things! Just because his hair was a touch prematurely gray, and his eyesight was worse than your average 90-year-old doesn’t mean he can’t have a good time.

He checks his phone. Nilanjana is supposed to be here by now. Not that time particularly means anything to him anymore (in fact, his phone clock just says 25:00, and he doesn’t even have it set to military time), but maybe she’s running late?

Nothing. No new notifications. 

Well, that was a lie. He has a push notification from the Sheriff’s Secret Police app that had appeared on his phone as soon as he had crossed the border into Night Vale. 

_Better Safe Than Sorry. Better Sorry Than Alive. Better Alive Than Safe. -SSP_

He also has about seven texts from Cecil. He was fond of the radio host, even if he had been a little put off by his intensity starting out. Now, he knows that Cecil is just _like that._ He’s dramatic, as any broadcast performer has to be, and every personal statement is inflated like a snake-balloon on Easter.

Sometimes he wonders if the personal statements involving the scientist meant something more than enthusiastic friendship, but he doubts that. No one is _that forward_ , and his best hypothesis for Cecil’s behavior is that he wants Carlos to feel welcome in his little desert community. Carlos can’t say that he doesn’t appreciate it. It’s nice to have a close friend that isn’t afraid to express affection, especially to other men. Lord knows Carlos hadn’t gotten nearly enough Healthy Male Friendship Emotions in the outside world. 

Not that Carlos wouldn’t be interested if Cecil initiated something. He also is just new in town, and doesn’t think that it’s a good time to start any kind of serious relationship. He knows that’s just a recipe for becoming overwhelmed. Not that Cecil would be interested in him like that, anyway. It’s not scientifically worthwhile to keep thinking about.

He shook thoughts of Cecil out of his head. He checks his phone again, and this time saw a text from Nilanjana.

_So sorry, C! I think I’m coming down with a mild case of the throat spiders that’s going around. Raincheck?_

Oof. A couple months ago that would have alarmed him right out of the bar, but he’s kind of hit the limit for worrying about things that are strange but not super harmful. As terrifying as throat spiders sound, they’re really no worse than a common cold. The coughing is just caused by hundreds of tiny spiders instead of a scratchy throat or mucus, and sometimes when you sneeze little egg sacs come out. Gross, but not particularly dangerous.

Carlos finishes the rest of his drink. He guesses that he should head home soon, now that his social partner isn’t coming. He picks up the drink menu again, with the intention of paying his tab, but he notices a drink at the top. _Atomic Smorrebrod._

‘Ooh, scientific!’ he thinks to himself, checking out the description. It has a few fruit juices and peach schnapps, and Carlos is a sucker for sweet drinks (a trait that got him into some _situations_ in undergrad). ‘I’ll try this and then I’ll go home,’ Carlos decides internally. He’s experiencing local culture, and all.

He gets the attention of the bartender and clumsily produces the hand gestures next to the item on the menu. The bartender nods their heads, and starts shaking up the drink. Carlos is excited. Also, a little concerned, when he sees them crack open a worryingly spiky fruit, but really, when isn’t he concerned in Night Vale?

Speaking of being concerned, he feels eyes on him. He looks around, slowly, as not to draw attention to himself, and sees a man looking at him.

The man looks pretty normal, for Carlos’s pre-Night-Vale standards. He looks to be in his early twenties, with a smattering of freckles across his button nose and short red hair. He’s _definitely_ not bad-looking.

Carlos gives himself a subtle once-over, suddenly conscious of how he looks. He had left his lab coat at home, aiming to be inconspicuous as an interloper, and instead was wearing a red flannel and a tight pair of jeans. He didn’t have any weird stains or burned hair on him, so he looks better than he normally does. Carlos looks up again, and the man smiles at him, just slightly. Carlos smiles back. Ok. This is familiar territory, at least. 

Just then, Carlos’s drink materializes in front of him. It sure is a drink alright. Easily one of the drinks Carlos has ever ordered. He does all of the typical science checks: sight (greenish reddish), smell (fruity, with a hint of wood), aura (sexy), feel (cold) and taste ( _very_ alcoholic). 

He is just about to begin taking measurements on the drink when he feels someone slide into the seat next to him. 

“Hey,” says the stranger. It’s the same man as before. He has a boyish charm about him-- not too young for Carlos, but like he approached his adult life with a youthful enthusiasm. The freckles certainly didn’t age him.

“Hi,” says Carlos back, after a moment. It had been a while since he was approached by a man in a bar, although it wasn’t new for him. Carlos knows, objectively, that he is an attractive man, and so this is a dance he has danced before. 

“What brings you to Tourniquet?” asks the man, and Carlos pauses. _Tourniquet?_ Then he looks up, and sees the neon sign on top of the bar. Ah, it’s the name of the restaurant. While observant is the 6th thing a scientist is, Carlos is off the clock, and so fulfills none of his typical scientific duties. 

“Oh, I uh- I was meeting a friend here, but she couldn’t make it,” says Carlos, and then kicks himself a little for being un-seductive. There’s nothing sexier than a man who got ditched by his friend on a Thursday night.

“Hm, throat spiders?” asks the man knowingly, and Carlos nods, a little impressed. “We just had it ravage our wait staff here.” Ah. 

“Do you work here?” Carlos asks. He couldn’t imagine this man doing the tedious customer service voice needed for a waiter or bartender.

“I’m the sous-chef,” says the man. “You can call me Earl.”

“Oh, are you supposed to be working?” Carlos is worried that he misinterpreted many things, and is distracting this poor man from his job.

The man-- Earl-- laughs. “No, no,” he reassures. “I just got off.” 

The corners of Carlos’s eyes crinkle at the double entendre.

“No, wait--” Earl bumbles. “That’s not what I meant, aha-”

“Would you like to?” asks Carlos, emboldened by the sheer amount of alcohol in this fruity drink, and then immediately regrets it. Maybe it’s been _too_ long. Earl snorts his drink, coughing. 

“Maybe buy me a drink first, tough guy.”

* * *

“Do you normally hang out in your own restaurant’s bar?” asks Carlos at the bottom of his drink.

“No,” says Earl. “I just- I just have had a rough week, you know?”

Carlos nods, even though he doesn’t know, probably. Earl seems like a Night Vale native and most likely isn’t as upset about the whole “time not working” thing as Carlos is.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Earl takes a long swig of his drink. “There’s this guy,” he starts. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. And I finally got what I always wanted, you know? I thought we were gonna be together forever,” He takes another long sip. “Guess it wasn’t in the cards for us, though.”

Carlos starts to say something like “I’m sorry” or “That sucks!” or something a competent person would say, but he’s cut off.

“And now he’s fawning all over this other guy, right where I can hear him! Like, I can’t say that that’s nice to listen to. It’s only been a few months, and now its all he talks about! It’s all ‘his hair’ this and ‘his teeth’ that and it just-- it just sucks is all.”

Carlos just decides to sit and nod sympathetically. He gets it. He would be put off by this, normally, but he’s being honest with himself and knows that if he wants to get with this guy it won’t be for something long term. Baggage is just something you bring on a plane, right? 

“I’m sorry,” said Earl, looking down and avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t mean to rant at you. You’re probably trying to leave now, right? And I can’t say I don’t blame you.”

Carlos smiles reassuringly. “Earl, I think you need a palate cleanser.”

Earl looks at him, confused. “Hm?”

“You need someone to get the taste of this guy out of your mouth. Like bread, or milk, after a spicy dish.”

Earl thinks about it for a moment, and gets a hardened, determined look in his eyes. 

“I think you’re right.”

* * *

Earl lives in an apartment above the restaurant, and so they’re tearing through his living room in a very short amount of time. It’s been a while since Carlos has kissed someone, and it’s nice. 

The night passes in a series of flashes. A flannel is unbuttoned so that a neck can be kissed down. A man is shoved against the door of his bedroom. Hands, lots of hands. Carlos, on his knees. Earl, on his back. Sweat and moans and skin contact and friction. Heavy breathing. The awkwardness of cleaning up. Sleep.

Carlos wakes up in a bed that isn't his, in a room that isn’t his. He briefly considers the possibility that he has been re-educated, before remembering the events of last night. Ah. Yes, that was a thing that Carlos did.

He looks out the window and sees the sun is up. _Shit, he’s late to work._ He tries to quietly leave the bed as to not wake up the man next to him, and it is not effective.

“Hm?” comes the mound of comforters to his right.

“I have to go to work,” whispers Carlos. “They need me at the lab. Probably.” He finds his jeans and hops into them while Earl rubs his eyes. 

“Uh, ok,” says Earl, ever the eloquent morning conversationalist. 

“Uh, last night was fun. Thanks,” says Carlos. “See you around, I guess.” He looks at Earl one last time, before leaving, sock-footed, from the room. 

Earl thinks about what the man just said. _The lab_. It couldn’t be--

The door opens again, and a man with very bad bed-head walks back in. “Left my shoes, aha,” he laughs nervously.

“Uh, this is kind of awkward, but I don’t think I caught your name last night?” Earl really hopes he’s wrong.

“Oh!” says the man. “It’s Carlos!” and then gives an awkward wave before leaving again.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit._ Of course it fucking was.

**Author's Note:**

> I am genuinely too lazy to write smut sometimes. Also debating writing a follow up to this where Cecil introduces Carlos to his childhood best friend, Earl. That would be pretty awkward I think.


End file.
